


Tales of a Damsel in Distress

by redcurlzbychoice



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Confessions, Damsel in Distress, Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Armageddon, Warning indecent temptation, and Well-Before-Armageddon, ineffable alliterations, revelations of past incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 22:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcurlzbychoice/pseuds/redcurlzbychoice
Summary: „May I offer you a hand from your most humble knight and servant, my dearest damsel in distress?“ Crowley said with a gallant smile.Crowley obviously had come to Aziraphale’s rescue again.„Damsel! I may have been in some distress indeed, but I‘m surely no damsel!“ Aziraphale exclaimed.„Oh, come on! Damsel in Distress. Angel in Anxiety. Principality in Petty Peril!You ARE a Damsel in Distress. You have been for centuries, millennia even! You literally are THE ORIGINAL Damsel in Distress, you beloved fool of an Angel!“ Crowley heard himself go on. „Even if you choose to repress that fact! The phrase was coined by that Ames guy after he‘d seen YOU in distress!!!“ He tried to stop but the words were out before he could get his stupid mouth shut.———————————————————In which Our Beloved Ineffable Husbands dive into repressed dreads of their past. And obviously come out together on their own side.———————————————————Warning: There is a hint that one of the two might be tempted to do something that the other would probably not be happy about in the long run.- If you find I should use more explicit warnings: please let me know. (It‘s my first posting here...)





	Tales of a Damsel in Distress

Aziraphale walked the seedier parts of town.

It really wasn’t a walk in the park (although he was literally walking in one of the community greens at the moment), but he sometimes felt compelled to spread a little hope and confidence among the humans who were most in need of it.

Maybe even some love, as love was still radiating off him like the cozy heat from a freshly filled hot water bottle. (Crowley could feel it too, of course, and since they‘d confessed their feelings to each other he‘d made a habit of snuggling up and relaxing in this warmth whenever possible. Crowley! Just the thought of him made Aziraphale smile.)

Lost in these happy musings he noticed the haggard human only when addressed: „Your wallet!! And your phone, or your face in the dirt!!!“

„Oh, there‘s no need to be so rude!“ Aziraphale tutted at him. „Well, I don‘t own a phone, so sorry about that. I‘d be more than happy to give you 20 Pounds, though only if you promise to use it on food and not on these fake jewelry or crackling stuff. You surely seem to be in need of a healthy dinner, dear. When DID you eat a real meal the last time, love, your looks makes me wonder.“

The mugger was stupefied. Whatever he had thought how this poof would react, this didn‘t come anywhere near.

Aziraphale was by now used to this. Usually they would splutter something about being so sorry and that they‘d had a really hard time. Some of them even would start to cry when for the first time in an often very long time they felt that a loving soul truly appreciated their very existence.

If they were inclined to it Aziraphale would be chatting away with them for a while and they‘d part with a mutual feeling that the world looked a little brighter tonight. And all of them would meet some chance to lighten up their lives in the next days, and Aziraphale hoped that they would spread that brightness to their neighbour.

Not this one, though.

„Wallet! Phone!! Now!!!“ The mugger managed to hiss. He was feeling something queer indeed, but he was still high on crack and thoughts or feelings were scattered anyway.

He just knew he needed the money and this ... dressed up faggot was in the way between him and that surely well filled wallet, looks of him.

„Give me the money!“ he hissed once more. „Or you‘ll be sorry!“ He dragged his arm out of the hoody and a metal blade caught a glimpse of the moonlight.

Aziraphale stumbled backwards and trippled into a pothole filled with water and into the dirt.

„I‘d rather say you‘ll be sorry, mate!“ hissed another voice threateningly (he really did an excellent job in hiding his fear), coming from a tall slim figure that had followedAziraphale’s trail unseen in the dark shadows.

„Get off! Now!!!“ The figure hissed again, slithered over and towered over the addict, staring at him with yellow slit eyes that sparkled with condemnation.

The mugger didn’t realize their meaning and muttered „Oh, those are cool!“ (that‘s what crack does to your brain) but then he saw the teeth in the head of the figure suddenly grow longer and sharper and coming for him and gnawing into his brain (*) and he let out a high-pitched squeal and stumbled over and while trying to get back on his feet scrambled out of sight. 

(* that‘s what crack does to your brain, too. Crowley had merely grinned menacingly at him. He had indeed intended on such an effect but when he sensed that the guy was still sky-high he let his teeth stay at what shape they were and let the crack do all the effort for him. ‘t was easier that way anyhow. He still thought his canine teeth were just this fraction of a millimeter longer than he liked them from the last time he‘d pulled that trick.)

„May I offer you a hand from your most humble knight and servant, my dearest damsel in distress?“ Crowley said with a gallant smile that didn‘t hide his relief and held out his arm for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale took his hand and let allow for him to be pulled up. He straightened out his coat and his bowtie - „Oh, now, look, they‘re all stained with mud!“ - and then... - Oh, he couldn‘t admit just yet that he‘d indeed been frightened (injuries or discorporation weren‘t so easy to handle with when you were no longer on friendly grounds with heaven) and how much he‘d really felt relieved and uplifted when he‘d recognized Crowley’s voice and that Crowley obviously had come to his rescue again. Crowley!

He beamed at him, realized that he’d made a fool of himself (*), and so all these mixed feelings cumulated into his usual pouting and tutting.

(* again)

„Damsel! I may have been in some distress indeed, but I‘m surely no damsel. I‘m an Angel! A Principality even!“ he exclaimed.

„Oh, come on! Damsel in Distress. Angel in Anxiety. Principality in Petty Peril! Whatever you wish to choose!“ Crowley shot back. (*) „You ARE a Damsel in Distress. You have been for centuries, millennia even! How often did I have to rescue you from the mess you’ve gotten yourself into!“

Crowley was getting himself wound up a bit.

„And you‘ve enjoyed yourself every single time - at my expenses!“ Aziraphale pouted back, but that didn‘t stop Crowley.

„You literally are THE ORIGINAL Damsel in Distress, you beloved fool of an Angel!“ he heard himself go on. „Even if you choose to repress that fact! The phrase was coined by that Ames guy after he‘d seen YOU in distress!!!“ He tried to stop but the words were out before he could get his stupid mouth shut. Why had he not thought about where these inculpable alliterations might lead the conversation? (* now would be a convenient time to read the asterisk) 

(* Crowley had come upon these Alliterations easily enough - they had suddenly been imprinted in his mind, like hell‘s instructions used to when he was still on their payroll, but in a much more pleasant and beneficial (he did not dare to use the term „ineffeble“) way - onelovely sunny afternoon when he had been sprawled out on a blanket in the park in the sunshine, just after a little picnic when they -well, mostly Aziraphale- had indulged in cinnamon rolls with lots of icing.

Aziraphale had offered to put away the litter and he had been filled up with love for his Angel until he’d felt all giddy while watching him how he had tried to get the sticky paper off his fingers into the bin. His darling Angel had been practically jumping and dancing all over the place, knocking a poor elderly lady‘s trolley over and stumbling and fussing about in order to help her collect her things and apologize at the same time. (At home she‘d find a bag of her favourite sweets among her groceries, and they miraculously didn’t affect her diabetes at all.)

It had been hilarious. He loved this dainty Angel so much, and he couldn‘t help smiling whenever he thought of this sight.

And so he had waited patiently all these weeks for the perfect situation to use these words. He knew he‘d get his chance. He knew his Angel well enough to know he wouldn‘t have to wait for too long...)

Crowley hoped Aziraphale would miss the bait, but he swallowed it whole.

„No, you wouldn‘t bring that up!!!!“ Aziraphale had started to blush.

„Yeah, ‘s okay, I apologize. Sorry. Should I clean your coat?“ Crowley tried to steer him off course, but now Aziraphale was all in to follow the path into one of the best and worst days of their friendship. Why had he been so dumb not to think of that, clever demon that he was (*). Though, some questions had nagged at him ever since.

(* most of the time)

With mighty anger Aziraphale glared straight into his face:

„Well, if you do remember so well you surely will also recall the fact that the guy got the situation completely wrong! You‘ve been there as well, you, you ... DISTRESS!“ Aziraphale shouted. „HA, got you there!“ he added triumphantly when he saw Crowley’s guilty face but then he suddenly realized where they were heading to. The incident they had never talked about, not once in more than 300 years.

„Do you really ... want to talk about it now?“ Aziraphale asked slowly.

„Well, it’s out in the open anyway, Angel.“ Crowley was hesitating too. „But here was also the afternoon, remember? It wasn‘t all bad...“

„ ‚’T was in July, one glorious Afternoon,‘“ Aziraphale quoted, and omitting a few lines „‚Methought I heard a strange Confused Noise, of Sighs and Groans, which seem‘d of Female Voice...‘“

„‚She was (or at the least she seem‘d) a Maid:‘“ Crowley continued and couldn‘t hide a grin. „You looked stunning in that Turkish vesture.“

„Why, thanks, dear. Remember? - I had been in Moscow for that peace treaty in May and on the way back spend some time with the Europeans and the Osmans- they both were badly in need of some comfort with these terrible wars going on. Humans!“

„That was a pretty fight we‘d gotten ourselves into.“ Crowley mused. „Can you remember why?“ (Of course he could himself, but he wanted to hear Aziraphale’s point of view.)

„Well, you tried to kiss me! Impede on my innocence!“ Aziraphale shot at him.

„May I remind you that YOU set the date and place for the picnic.“ Crowley wasn‘t inclined to give him an easy way out. He wanted answers, at last.

„‚To a thick Grove, compos’d of Beech and Oak, (A Place where Poets oft their Muse invoke.)‘“ he quoted once again, „can‘t think of anything more romantic. AND I waited for 10 days for you, the full 10 days! Until you would have the grace to show up.“

„I‘d been in Europe! Can‘t you remember these ridiculous times when the place was scattered in countries and counties and baronies and some of them did have not only different times but different dates? I had 3 different calenders to juggle. I got mixed up with the dates in the end! I’m sorry!“

„Yeah, wasn‘t that a nice one?“ Crowley grinned. „Still buggers historians when they try to date certain events in history. Backfired on myself though a couple of times“ he added sourly.

„See, invitation, romantic setting, me waiting for you.“ Crowley continued. „It all got me into thinkingthat after all these years and all these wooing I did with Will‘s poetry you‘d at last gotten your mind up to LIKE me. Pulling at my strings for a change. Yes, I told you that I love you. That I‘d do anything for you! Called you my Angel. So I tried to kiss you, yes! Once. Only once! And I’ve apologized over and over. AND over and over again. And backed up again. You seemed fine with it. But that was only the start, wasn‘t it?“ Easy now, Crowley reminded himself, never take a direct approach, we‘ll be getting closer to the truth, some things don’t change over the centuries.

„The food you had brought looked just scrumptious, indeed. You did tempt me, my dearest friend. How was I to leave without at least taking a bite?“ (Crowley hid a smile. Some things really don’t change over the centuries.) „And the wine was fabulous.“ Aziraphale continued, caught up in his memory. „I think I had quite a bit of it, oh dear.“

„You were plastered, my dear Angel. I told you to sober up several times, but you wouldn‘t listen.“ (Easy, really easy, how much did the angel actually remember?)

Aziraphale took a deep breath, allowing the truth to come to surface. „I think I was misusing that lovely wine to gather up courage. Oh, I should have known that wouldn‘t work out.“

„Why did you think you needed to be brave? I was there. I was waiting. You had just rebuffed my own attempt.“

„But that was the point! You there, in the sun, under these trees, the sunbeams and leafshadows playing in your hair, I realized - I thought - I suddenly felt so much for you, it was overwhelming.“

„You started to play with my hair. That was lovely.“

And though it was only a memory he bent his head slightly towards Aziraphale, who remembered too and reached up and let his fingers slide through Crowley’s hair, just once, but they both felt the memory of hours of sunshiny bliss in that small gesture.

„We should have left it there.“ Crowley said.

And, suddenly realizing again that they were still standing in the community green in a not so nice part of town, and that Aziraphale was still soaked with dirt and mud, he miracled his Angel dry and neat again („Why, thanks my love, it feels so much better when you do that“) and they started walking leisurely towards home, their arms linked (*).

(* It didn‘t matter where they were heading to, „home“ these days meant any place where they could be in each other‘s company.)

„So, why did it change?“ Aziraphale broke their contemplation after some time.

„That‘s what I‘ve always asked myself all these years. One moment I lay with my head in your lap, not even daring to move one inch for fear that beautiful bubble of bliss would burst, next moment you‘re all over me and trying to hit your lips on mine. Why was that, Angel? You never explained.“

Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks.

„I did WHAT?“ the angel spluttered.

„You tried to kiss me. Very clumsily, but you were pretty far pissed out by then. See, you‘d kept drinking wine all the time while we were there. I tried to level down the alcohol content, but I had a feeling you were leveling it up much higher again.“

„I told you I was trying to gather up courage.“ Aziraphale mumbled, apparently scrutinizing his fine leather shoes for left over spots. Then he looked directly at Crowley.

„I really did kiss you?“ he asked in a rather alarmed voice.

„Yeah, well, you tried. Missed my mouth by about a foot though. You were smashed indeed.“ Crowley smiled unhappily, the hurtful memory of what had happened next already on his mind.

„I did kiss you? - I can‘t remember at all!“ Aziraphale spluttered, fear in his eyes, reaching out for Crowley’s hands once more. He hardly dared to hear what came next.

„You really can’t? Hmph, that explains a lot! No surprise, told you you were soaked in alcohol. And I myself, dead sober, not having had a glass in hours. Besides, I had sobered myself up the moment you had your hands in my hair. Didn‘t want to miss one single second of that.“

He smiled at his Angel. „Maybe I should have had a little more- and you a lot less, my dear! - and things would have had a chance to work out.“

„What happened next?“ Aziraphale asked in a small voice.

He pretty much guessed, but he needed to hear. Not wanted to, surely not, but needed to. He held Crowley’s hands a bit tighter.

„Well, for once I did the chivalrous thing: I turned you down. Not to get misunderstood: I did want to! I wanted to feel your love so badly, but you were in no state whatsoever of being yourself. So, ... I turned you down. And you got furious.“

He looked at his Angel and his insides still cringed with pain and restraint. He‘d known it had been the right choice (and that him being a demon!).

It had been bad. It had been like reversed sides.

The Angel being the one tempting and accusing and condemning, calling him words he‘d never even thought that they were in the knowledge of this heavenly being.

And Crowley himself forlorn, pleading, begging at him again and again to sober up, please Angel!, you‘re not yourself, you don‘t mean it, it‘s the drink, if we‘d do what you‘re suggesting you‘ll hate me and yourself when you sober up, please Angel, leave it be.

Crowley remembered it all. He knew now that Aziraphale remembered hardly anything, and he would leave it at that. „Furious“, that was all he needed to know. No need to upset his Angel. No need to tell him that there had been no other escape other than to run away and hide from him. The last sight still haunting him had been his Angel tearing at his clothing and calling for him to use his demonic skills on him.

No need to tell him that.

He‘d fled from the grove, got into the nearest pub and drowned his feelings in extraordinary amounts of alcohol, too, until he couldn‘t tell anymore if it were his feelings or the drink that made him shake all over, until at last he passed out so that he wouldn‘t even feel the shaking anymore.

No need to tell him that.

But that‘s probably been how that Ames guy had found his Angel, sobbing, with torn clothing and wailing about the wrongdoings of demons in a male shape and probably all the things he had been called that day.

And that’s what he, Crowley, needed to know so badly since 1687, and even more sosince Ames had that ridiculous poem published. He needed to know what had happened to his Angel that night. (He had seeked out Richard Ames after he‘d arrived down in hell, of course, and cautiously tried to get some information about him. He was relieved that „assault (incl. indecent) on a heavenly being“ was not on his list of deeds in mortal life, but than you never knew how much the Deeds Control Department had messed up the records, especially with a list as long as Richard Ames‘.)

And that‘s why he still was here with Angel instead of running away once more. Or Angel running away from him. They had been through rough times and had come out together, on their own side, they had stood up against heaven and hell, but they never had dared to talk about that day.

„Furious.“ He heard Aziraphale say. „Because you turned me down.“

„Hm. You were pretty frightening. Heavenly rage or so.“ (Don’t push it further, he doesn’t need to know, he reminded himself.)

„You ran away.“ Aziraphale said it matter-of-fact. Not a question at all.

„Angel, how much do you remember?“ Crowley inquired with newly awakened dread in his voice.

Aziraphale looked at him full of gentleness. „It‘s not a clear memory, more like a blur of feelings. I recall rage and desparation and -oh, how embarrassing- wantonness on my side and mostly fear and desparation - and kindness! on yours. Oh Crowley, what did I DO to you? Because what I do remember is your face in fear and horror, and than you ran away. What did I do?“

„Angel, ...“

„Tell me, it cannot be worse than anything I‘ve thought of myself!“ he pleaded. „Did I hurt you? Did I smite you? Did I try to ... destroy you? Please, dearest, I need to know. It‘s been eating at me all these years. Please, tell me, Crowley!“

Crowley looked at him. Maybe Aziraphale indeed needed to be told. Maybe this was why they were having this conversation at last. To fill up the gaping holes in their souls, be true to each other, trust in one another even more. After all, they had survived that day in the grove, they had somehow averted Armageddon together, they had chosen their own side.

Maybe he really needed to be told at last.

So he answered.

„You never tried to hurt me in any way. What you did was ..., you ..., well, you offered yourself to me. You tempted me. You, the Angel!!! You ... you acted like the forbidden fruit, ripe and juicy, offering itself, asking me, ordering me to take a bite. In all your heavenly glory. It was the most frightful sight I‘ve ever seen. But you didn‘t hurt me.“

Aziraphale remained silent, slightly shaking, looking blankly on the ground. Crowley gathered the courage to embrace him.

„Angel, you‘re crying! Don‘t!“

He tried to comfort him, holding his shaking body close to his own, while the angel weeped, sobbing into his chest.

„Ssh, Angel, ‘s okay. You didn‘t hurt me. I was frightened, yes, very much so. But at least as much frightened of myself as of you. I, ... I didn‘t know if I could resist you much longer. ’m only a demon, not a saint, see. That‘s why I ran away. That‘s why I went hiding. But, ...“ and a new thought surfaced, that had been dwelling deep inside of him all these years, guiding him from the depths of his unconciousness, but never clear enough to grasp, never clear enough to be put into words. Until now.

„Angel, from that day on I also knew you loved me deeply, dearly. That you wanted what I wanted, although you couldn‘t admit it or - as you‘d shown me there - were just not able to ask me in a more ... reasonable way. Yet. From that day on I knew there was hope. I knew I just had to wait a little while longer. (*)“

He deeply inhaled the heavenly smell of Azirathale’s curls and breathed a tiny kiss into them.

(* „a little while“ can go a long way for an eternal being)

„Angel, don‘t cry. Not for my sake. I love you. I‘ve pretty much loved you ever since I met you, giving away that sword and everything.“ His loving smile was audible in his words. „Ever since I knew you were not one of these usual ‚righteousness up my ass‘ stock of angels. Ever since I sensed you were just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.“

He talked soothingly to his Angel a little while longer, holding him close until he felt that he had used the right memories, the right words to comfort him, until he felt Aziraphale‘s sobbing ease, felt that his Angel was maybe even starting to smile again, face still buried deep in his chest. His soft, fragile Angel, who could be so severe and frightening when he chose to.

„Hey, how about I‘ll get you home and prepare some hot cocoa for you, would you like that, Angel?“ he gently asked at last.

„Hmmmbh, ’course, I‘d love that!“ Aziraphale glanced shyly up to him and sniffed back some teary snot in a not very angelic way, but Crowley loved him even more for it.

„I‘m so sorry...“ he started, but Crowley shushed him.

„‘s fine, Angel, don‘t worry anymore. You‘re feeling better?“

Aziraphale nodded. „It‘s ..., I .....“ For the first time, the eloquent angel was lost for words.

„Angel, it‘s ok. Whatever happened, it‘s ok. What‘s important is that we made it through. That we‘re here now. Together. Our side, remember?“

Again, he smiled at him. „Come on, let‘s get you home. You‘re surely exhausted.“

Crowley sensed, that the Angel needed more time to think, more time to find the right words. They would talk about it, later. For now both of them just wanted to get off the street, get home.

Crowley chose the bookstore, not only because it was a bit nearer, it was also what he sensed Aziraphale was in need of at the moment: his safe haven, crowded with his beloved books, old tartan blankets and the comfy old sofa that was so useful in snuggling up really close because it was just wide enough to hold both of them comfortably when they lay embraced. On top of that, the bookstore had definitely the better cocoa preparing facilities (*).

(* Crowley could’ve of course imagined some hot cocoa into existence in his own flat - he needn’t even imagine the winged cups Aziraphale loved so much, as they were among the first things he had acquired when they had started to spend so much more time together - but he felt that warming the milk and stirring in the cocoa in a more traditional way would better help to calm down their nerves tonight.)

It took them a while until they got there, mostly because you can‘t walk fast when you‘re walking very closely embraced (and that‘s what both of them were in need ofmost at the moment - the reassurance of the existence in soul and body of their counterpart).

Aziraphale also needed to stop a couple of times to blow his nose into a beautiful sky-blue handkerchief embroidered with golden wings and red snaky swirls at the edges that Crowley had conveniently produced from his pocket. (Aziraphale hadn‘t said anything, but Crowley had seen the tiny glance from his Angel up to his eyes and he knew with deep content that he’d nailed the design.)

When they‘d finally made it back to the bookshop Crowley busied himself in the little kitchen. He‘d thought that Aziraphale would like to sit on the sofa for a while, taking the time to sort out his thoughts and feelings by himself.

On the contrary Aziraphale seemed glued to him and wouldn’t stray further from him than the kitchen door, closely watching Crowley as he warmed the milk and stirred in the cocoa powder, filled the cocoa into their two mugs (*) and topped Aziraphale‘s with a whiff of whipped cream and his own with a generous dram of whisky.

(* one with wings and one with a serpent-shaped handle that Aziraphale had come across in the shop window of a little antiques shop near Wardour Street that sold off the estate of a country physician.)

Both didn‘t say a word, but from time to time Crowley glanced at Aziraphale from the corners of his eyes (since Armageddoverit he used to take off his sunglasses whenever they were in private) and he saw hundreds of emotions and thoughts and yet unspoken words flicker over his Angel‘s expressive face.

At last Crowley handed Aziraphale his mug (receiving a very loving and appreciative smile from the angel) and they went over to the sofa to sit down next to each other. Crowley had gotten more and more irritated by Aziraphale‘s unusual behavior. His chatterbox of an Angel had remained silent for far too long by now in his opinion.

It might not have been so hard to bear if Crowley had known his Angel to be immersed in pleasurable feelings. But the emotions that Crowley had seen flickering over Aziraphale‘s face had been of a very different kind: he had seen a lot of worry, dread, even sheer terror, and grief, but also quite a few smiles and shining love and at one point the angel had been nearly chuckling, abruptly followed by guilt.

And he still did not know what had happened between Ames and his Angel, what had happened to Aziraphale when Crowley had deserted him.

So, when Aziraphale remained silent and just stared into his cocoa (very appreciative though), Crowley blurted.

„Angel, SAY SOMETHING! You‘re driving me nuts! I‘m sorry, ok!! I left you all by yourself in that grove. In a state when you were in no way yourself. I‘m so sorry!! What happened to you? I‘ve been worrying myself sick all these years. Never did forgive myself.Why did you cry so hard just now? Angel!!! Say SOMETHING!!! Was it anything Ames did to you? I swear I’ll go straight down into hell and roast him all over for what he‘s done to you. Angel! Will you please START TALKING!!“

He stared at his Angel (who’s startled look during this declaration made him even more irritable) and was just on the verge of being tempted himself into gripping his collar and giving him a good thorough shake, when Aziraphale finally spoke.

„Oh, Richard? He was such a sweet lad.“ he said airily. And with a lot more worry „No, I was thinking about how I nearly destroyed you, and - oh, Crowley, can you ever forgive me?“

Crowley tried hard to comprehend what he had just heard. He rewound the words in his head and when he still couldn’t make any sense of them after about the third round over he quite cleverly said „Eerrr, what?“

They stared at each other. Aziraphale was uneasily shifting in his seat under Crowley’s confused gaze.

Crowley took a very deep breath and decided that obviously it would be his task to sort out his scatterbrained Angel‘s ramblings, so he just as well could get started.

„OK, Angel, now that‘s a bit much. Why’d you say you destroyed me? You scared me allright, yeah, and I got pissed drunk afterwards, but I woke in a nice bed in the Inn, so no worries there. - But Ames ‚a sweet lad‘? Angel, what did he do to you? You were helpless when I left you!“

„Oh!“ Aziraphale seemed to realize something for the first time. „Of course you can‘t remember what happened at the Pub.“

„Nnngk, ANGEL!!!! Can you PLEASE take it one by one?“ Crowley pleaded in exasperation.

„So you worry about me and Richard?“

„YES!!!! For quite some time now!“

„You want to hear about me and Richard first before I tell you what happened to you, is that correct?“

„Angel, is it fun for you to rack me completely? How much time did you have to think things over? Did you plan this while I did the cocoa or what?“

„Oh, my dear, I‘m sorry. This is just so typical for you.“

(„Typical for ME?“ Crowley thought. „YOU‘re the one playing with my heart, my love! And my nerves...“)

„So, will you please start SOMEwhere?“ Crowley growled.

„Richard?“

„Yeah, Richard! Will you?!“

„Oh, there‘s actually not that much about him. He must have heard a bit of our ... conversation. He came into the grove after you‘d left.“

„Angel, what happened? What can you remember? You were stone drunk when I ran off. Did he - did he take advantage - of the situation?“

“Oh, no. Crowley, I told you, he was a really sweet lad. Well, to me. I think other women might have had different thoughts on that.“

„Angel, for the umpteenth time: WHAT happened?“

Aziraphale looked somewhat guilty.

„Well, when you ran off - your look - your utter fear - it made me come to my senses. At least so much that I was able to sober up. I tried to call after you but you were gone. So I gathered my clothes and was about to follow you.

I couldn‘t stop crying. I told you, I was convinced I had done something terrible to you. And just then Richard turned up. I believe he had some kind of epiphany. At least that‘s what he told me later. Had the full scene in his mind instantly, he said. A woman wailing for the love who‘s just left her. Well, that wasn‘t too far off the truth, to be honest.“

„He never...?“

„Oh, well, later, yes, of course, he tried, once or twice. He never really figured out that I’m not precisely a woman. Or a man, for that matter.“

Aziraphale couldn‘t hide a smirk. „It just didn‘t matter to him. ‚Nobody’s perfect.‘ he’d say. Coined more than one catchy phrase, I guess.“ Aziraphale chuckled.

„But all in all he was happy enough with me being his muse. He said he‘d always feel somehow enlightened when I was around. Helped him with his words, he said. I had told him that I only was interested in one being on earth, and that it definitely wasn‘t him - which was and is still true, of course (*) - and he seemed quite happy with it. He had lots of other women though, mind you. He was a good listener. I guess he got a lot of his lines for these poems from what his many girlfriends told him about other men. And surely quite a couple from what they yelled at him personally.“

(* this wasn‘t the first time that Aziraphale had declared his love to him since Armageddonwithit, but just now it blew Crowley’s mind that the Angel had acknowledged his feelings for so long)

„He didn‘t...?“

„Oh, no, well, he acted more like these writers often do when they try to grasp that new inspiration before it slips their mind again. Not really on an earthly plane anymore. Your Will probably behaved in a similar way from time to time.

He of course tried to talk to me about you, but I was just desperate to follow you. So I buggered him off with a pen and enough paper for a week and promised to meet him back in London later.

And then I tried to pursue you.

I couldn’t get your expression off my mind. I was worried to death about you, well, to discorporation. And I was quite right, unfortunately.“

„So Richard Ames never...?“

„Oh, Crowley, will you please STOP talking about Richard?! I told you I was in full control of the situation after you’d ... left and anyways he never meant that much to me. Not remotely a tiniest mite of how I much I care for you! I had fondled your hair the whole afternoon! There was no way of denying anymore that I had FEELINGS for you. And then I couldn’t remember ANYTHING. Except that I had scared the wits out of you. Crowley, do you get it? Do you get it into this thick clever demon brain of yours? If Richard Ames never was more than a nuisance of a fly to me, then you, you‘re my ... rapture of a black winged eagle ... demon. Which I had brought to ground and crushed. I was plain SCARED I‘d lose you. Just after realizing how much I cared for YOU, Crowley! So please stop fussing about Richard, when this whole day was about me and you!“

Aziraphale was nearly shouting now, on his feet, towering over Crowley. (*) He was positively trembling with the massive onrush of feelings stored away for hundreds of years.

(* The mug had been carefully placed on a side table, not to spill anything on a book. Milk and cocoa can leave nasty spots.)

Crowley stared at him open mouthed, desperately trying to comprehend what he was being told.

The angel stomped on.

„You never wondered why on earth you woke up in a bed with white linnen sheets? In the upstairs room of an otherwise soggy pub on the outskirts of 1687 London? That had a putto in the room? Now how likely was that?“

„Eeer, no, really, never ... Had a massive hangover when I came round, see? So that little fat angel statue was a putto? Couldn‘t miss that. Stared me right into the face when I woke up. Seemed to laugh at me.“

„It smiled benevolently and guarded your sleep“, Aziraphale said with the full amount of heavenly pretentiousness that he would master and glared flaming arrows at Crowley.

„It didn’t have the right smile though. You know how tough smiles can be, or you would know from your friend Leo, wouldn‘t you. You ... ignorant ... imbecile ... impossible ... insanely beloved demon!“

He held his breath, like gathering strength for the next round, but then with a big sigh slumped back down to Crowley on the sofa.

„Crowley, how much do you actually remember?“ he asked in an exhausted voice. „After you ran away. What happened next?“

Crowley suddenly felt cold clutching at bis heart. He‘d never even thought about what had happened to him while he had been passed out.

He always felt a little anxious when he was not in control of the course of events for some time. That’s why he hardly got fully plastered in public. Usually, when he didn‘t make it home in time (like in Spain in that infernally blasted 14th Century), he’d rely on his literal luck of a demon, pass out somewhere and sleep it off in some ditch. When he came round he’d wail over his hangover until he was able to clean himself with a snap of his fingers and then went on his business.

Aziraphale did have a point. He‘d never before woken in a clean bed with a fat angel watching over him. Since then he actually hadn‘t passed out all by himself anymore at all.

If he had been drinking real hard it had usually been in the company of a certain Angel who’d be sulking for ages (*) if he were ever to be described as ‚fat’, but who‘s body shape still somewhat suggested that he might be quite fond of palatable delicacies of all sorts.

The couple of times in his life Crowley had gotten himself plastered into oblivion it had been when he used the alcohol to block out feelings that were utterly intolerable for a demon, like blank despair at the cruelty of mankind or heaven, or this cursed all consuming hope for love.

(* verbatim)

Aziraphale must know something about that gap in his memory, and knowing his Angel, he definitely had played a major role in what had happened.

„Angel, what did you do? All I can remember was getting into the very first pub, asking for their strongest liquor and drinking until I passed out.“ Crowley asked in a flat, monotone voice.

„That‘s what I figured, too. Unfortunately you were so much out of your wits you passed by the first two pubs on the way. It delayed me so much, searching each one for you and I did have a late start anyway with Richard and all.“

Aziraphale took Crowley‘s hands and caressed them, while his eyes looked at his beloved demon, overshaded with pain.

„When I ... when I found you finally in that third pub, you‘d gotten yourself through several bottles of hard stuff already. You must have slumped down from your stool and somebody had flung you into a corner under a table. I barely was able to spot you.

Your body had nearly ceased breathing. Good thing you don‘t need the air or you would have been discorporated already. But the alcohol level in your blood was so high your nerves were badly affected.“ He squirmed, shuddering with the memory.

„You, ... you were in convulsions, Crowley.“

Crowley felt like drowning in icy cold water. He suddenly knew what Aziraphale would tell him next and his mind chose to take flight.

„The clever humans obviously thought that you were possessed by a demon - NO, DON’T LAUGH, CROWLEY, it’s NOT FUNNY!!!“

Aziraphale, indignant at first about Crowley’s unexpexted guffaw, all of a sudden did understand what had happened and joined Crowley‘s frantic, helpless laughter.

„Possessed - by a demon! Oh my, oh Aziraphale, I ... can‘t ...“

They lay in each others arms and laughed off the tension in roaring spasms, trying to wipe away the tears that kept streaming down their cheeks. Tears of roaring laughter were a lot preferable to tears of abysmal dread.

Because both Aziraphale and Crowley knew what had happened then, one because he was clever enough to figure it out and the other because he remembered vividly.

„They thought you were possessed and sought out the only way of cure they could think of: a priest with holy water to bless and heal you. He, ... he was already on his way.“

Aziraphale‘s voice quivered. The laughing had come to an end.

Crowley embraced him closely.

He‘d never had any idea what kind of horror Aziraphale had been through, in what kind of danger he himself had been.

„Angel, ...“ He was lost for words.

Aziraphale seemed eager to carry on with his tale, get it off his chest, share the fear and horror with the only being that mattered.

„Oh Crowley, I was so blessed to have arrived just in time. I couldn‘t pull a miracle, I didn‘t want to attract Heaven‘s attention onto you. And I still looked dressed rather like a woman, and with my hair short! I, ... I took to the first idea that I came up with: I told them you were my drunkard of a husband...“

„No! Aziraphale! You didn‘t!“ Crowley gaped at the Angel. „You did tell them we were MARRIED???“

„It was the first idea that came to my mind. I had no time to think, let alone plan. The priest arrived only a few minutes after I‘d found you. I told him I had sacrificed my hair to get you off the drink and ...“

„You told them I was your HUSBAND...? You‘re my WIFE…?“

„Crowley, why are you so shocked? I was under the impression this was something you were not completely opposed to from the very beginning of our acquaintance.“ Aziraphale seemed rather a bit at a loss.

„No, no, it‘s fine. Whatever you chose.“ Crowley said reassuringly, trying to stifle another gale of (this time fairly amused) laughter. „I just try to grab how I‘d reacted if I had been sober. I‘d probably discorporated just as well.“

„Well, still better than DESTROYED, don‘t you think?“ Aziraphale couldn’t hide his indignation, it had been a horrendous situation after all.

„C’mon, Angel, I survived obviously. YOU made me survive it. I‘m not poking fun at you, I‘m merely acknowledging your sheer cheek to save me. The extraordinary lenghts you were prepared to go for my sake.“ He smirked, trying to hide how genuinely impressed he was with Aziraphale‘s heroic act.

He failed completely in the hiding part though and Aziraphale, being somewhat appeased by his effort, beamed at him with affection.

„Do you want to tell me the full story of how you saved my life?“ Crowley asked gently after a while in which they just cherished the fact that they both obviously had come out alive and were able to snuggle up on Aziraphale‘s sofa, holding and comforting each other.

„Well, that’s what it was all about essentially. Luckily both the priest and the proprietor of the pub believed more in their personal wellbeing than in any demonic powers in a common drunkard, so it was easy - but by no means cheap, mind you! - to bribe them. I still thank the Almighty that I had a money pouch with me, to this day I cannot recall that I picked it up in the grove. So, eventually I had the money to pay them and rent a room with a clean bed where we could stay until you were well again.“

„A room ... with a bed... for the two of us...?“ Crowley couldn‘t help smirking once more.

„Now Crowley, my dear, don‘t you get carried away.“ Aziraphale chided him with mild exasperation.

„I had someone help me carry you up there - I could’ve done it myself, but, you see, I had to keep up appearances“ (another twist of Crowley’s mouth) „and than I sat with you - in a chair next to the bed, mind!“ (the twist turned into a broad grin) „- and watched over you while your body metabolised the alcohol, until I was sure you were out of danger.“ (The grin gave way to open adoration.)

„I talked to you, apologized, although you couldn’t hear me. I cleaned you, I combed your hair. I still didn’t dare to use any miracles. I repaired your sunglasses. Luckily I found them in the muck down in the parlour.“ He sighed deeply and went on.

„Searching for your glasses I had also found the putto in a back corner of the pub. I put it into our room to convince them that you were of good faith. ‚If there’s an angel there with him all possible wiles will be thwarted.‘ I told them.“ (Crowley coughed hard, trying to hold back a snigger that wanted to come out so badly.)

„I told them I was praying for you and your soul, which wasn’t even a lie. Crowley, please forgive me! I prayed to the Almighty that She would spare the drunkard I was watching over. Good thing Heaven doesn’t look too closely on prayers most of the time. “ (The snigger stopped dead in his throat. )

Aziraphale sighed deeply. „When you started to talk finally after 3 days your first word was ‚Angel!‘. And then ‚Angel, don‘t, I beg you!‘ You weren’t even able to open your eyes yet.“ Aziraphale‘s own eyes were dilated wide as he was plummeted back into the days of his deepest dispair.

„I, ... I ran away, too. I bolted. I made sure they‘d leave you alone until you were fully awake and I ran away.“

Aziraphale started to cry again.

There was nothing that Crowley could do other than comfort his Angel, make sure he was reminded that he was alive, alive and well, and that Aziraphale was loved, so much loved and even more adored for this heroic act of being his salvation.

Aziraphale swallowed hard, fought back the sobs and continued.

„I had hurt you so badly that I nearly had brought destruction upon you. You would have been utterly expunged from the earth, from my world! How would I have been able to go on without you? Oh Crowley, I still do get nightmares when I think about it. I never was fond of sleeping like you are, but since then I ... I just can‘t...“

Crowley had listened aghast. Only tonight it had dawned on him what he owed the angel. He‘d known forever that his life’s happiness depended on Aziraphale, but he hadn‘t had a clue that his dear life indeed had depended on Aziraphale and his bravery, his sincere courage to fight with and for his demon, his love.

„Angel, Aziraphale, you... you never told me.“

„Well, why should I? It wouldn’t have changed a thing except that you’d feel awkward.

I knew I had hurt you, although I couldn’t remember how. But what I knew for sure now was that you‘d rather get yourself destroyed than harm me in any way. That I could trust you until the end of the world and beyond. That you would never ever let me down.

I wouldn‘t dare to risk your life ever again. Oh Crowley, when you asked me for the Holy Water in St. James‘s Park, all the memories came back again. You were oblivious, but I had seen you nearly destroyed. I just couldn’t give it to you. Crowley, you are my world, the only world that matters to me!“

Crowley was dumbstruck. This whole night had taken a turn he‘d never ever imagined in his wildest dreams (and unlike the Angel he liked his wild dreams - he winced with the new knowledge just why his Angel didn‘t like to sleep).

What had started out as a bit of friendly banter had gotten them into the hidden depths of their mutually affected souls.

„Angel, how can I ever make up to you?“ he asked, searching his Angels face for - forgiveness?

„Why? Why should you make up to me that you love me dearer than your own life? I should be the one to beg you for forgiveness, that I sent you into despair so deeply.“

„I left you all by yourself, though.“ Crowley tried to explain. „I went searching for you once I’d come round again... - Oooh ... !, that‘s what the proprietor of that pub groused about when I left!‚Greetings to your fair and lovely lady! She deserves much better than you, bastard!‘“ Crowley exclaimed, another shard of memory finally falling into place.

„Well, he seemed to be inclined towards me a bit.“ („Everybody with the hint of a heart instantly tends to incline towards you a lot more than just a bit, Angel. No news there.“ Crowley thought.)

„I made sure his Pub would attract a bit of a nicer crowd from then on.“Aziraphale smirked shyly. „He shouldn‘t have insulted you though. That wasn‘t very nice of him.“

Crowley just nodded. „Anyway, I needed to know if you’d gotten harmed in any way during my absence. When I found you at last you were in Ames‘ company. I ... I figured ..., you seemed cheerful enough, ... and safe, and you wore a new coat, and I figured .... I was ashamed, and ... didn‘t want to interfere ... just left.“ He said rather helpless.

„Oh, you‘ve noticed the coat. It was a nice one indeed, wasn’t it. A gift from Richard. Had it for quite some years.“ Aziraphale noticed Crowley’s strained look and hesitated.

„You didn‘t realize though that he did all the talking and I just sat and stared and thought about you, I guess.“

„Hmm, ’t’s true.“ Crowley looked startled. „You were indeed quite calm, being you.... I ... I didn‘t know what to think. You‘d clearly shown some ... interest in me and now you were happy enough with another guy - and one of a very disputable reputation, too, as wasn‘t hard to find out.“

„Oh Crowley, do you want to go on forever about Richard? I told you, he wasn‘t ...“

„Shssh, Angel, I know, now. ’t‘s just a little hard to get over centuries of jealousy in the course of one single evening...“

Crowley seemed to gather courage to ask the Angel the next question. „Why didn‘t you get in touch with me, Angel? - I always thought it was because of Richard...“

„Oh Crowley, I was so afraid I‘d get you into danger again....“

Crowley mused on this explanation for a moment and then simply and merely exploded.

„Danger? No more danger? What was that then in France when you nearly got yourself beheaded, you eejit of an angel? I pulled my legs out to rush to your rescue, you ... peckish principality! If that wasn‘t danger, what else...??? And what for? Some crepes and brioche? ... No more frivolous miracles? Bugger me! Once we were out in that brasserie you were miracling stuff all over the place!“

Aziraphale beamed at him and chuckled. „You still don‘t get it?“

„Get WHAT, Angel?“

„I got myself into trouble when I sensed that you got exasperated. I‘d heard about your commendation. I tried to ward you from getting yourself hammered without a, well, a chaperon. Worked quite nicely, I‘d say.“ He looked supremely pleased with himself. „And oh, being in your company again at last was my special reward. Turned into a nice week at La Mère Catherine, didn‘t it? (*) Oh, the Moules a la Creme, weren’t they just delicious!“

(* Aziraphale had been so overflowing with happiness to be in Crowley’s company again - besides the indeed very delicious food and wine - that he made sure the newly opened brasserie would never ever go out of business, just so he could pop over once in a while for a couple of crepes and remember the blissful days he’d spent there with Crowley.)

Aziraphale still beamed at the demon who was trying to process these news.

„You - WHAT?“

„Worked quite well with these Nazis, too. I thought you’d feel better if you could tell me yourself that you were not involved in their -oh, there’s not enough words for it - terrible atrocities.“

„Aziraphale, are you trying to tell me you schemed all of this just so I could tell you in person that I‘m no monster?“

„Now, you did feel better indeed, didn‘t you, my dear?“ Aziraphale beamed at him like a Chesire cat that had just come across a whole bathtub of cream.

Crowley realized -not for the first and surely not for the last time in his life - that there were a lot more layers to his clever Angel than his choice of wardrobe already suggested.

And that he‘d better accept it without much further ado.

„Nmgj, point taken.“

In awe he stared at Aziraphale for a little while longer until Aziraphale‘s grin faded and the Angel looked somewhat self-conscoious.

On a sudden inspiration Crowley asked gently „Aziraphale, have you really not slept in all these years?“

„Well, as you know, I don‘t need to. Virtue is ever-vigilant, mind you.“ Aziraphale answered evasively. 

„Yeah, that’s what you told me before. Would you like to, though, Angel?“ Crowley asked again ever so gently. „Would you like to sleep and I‘d stay with you and watch over you while you sleep? I‘d ward you and I‘d wake you whenever I‘d see you‘re not comfortable? Would you like that, my brave Angel?“

Aziraphale looked at him astonished. „You would? ... You‘d do that? ... For me...? ... Oh, Crowley!“ He sighed deeply, thankfully. „I‘d love to, my dearest.“

„Whatever makes you happy, my love.“

Aziraphale hesitated though. „Crowley, there‘s just one...uuuhm... thing...“

„Anything wrong, Angel? What ... ?“

„Uhmm, I really don’t know how to tell you...“ Aziraphale blushed softly and seemed lost for the right words.

„C’mon, spit it out. There‘s nothing to hide. Surely not after tonight.“ Crowley still smiled reassuringly at his Angel.

„Ummm, would you mind if we ... changed places? Your chest... though I adore your shape, ..., it is rather bony, you know, all ribs and lean muscles, and ...“ the angel had turned a definitely pinkish shade.

Crowley couldn‘t help but burst out in laughter, this time at last outright happy and thoughtless and full of love for his fussy Angel.

„Are you suggesting that you‘d find my chest just not feathery soft enough to make a pleasurable cosy pillow for that delicate big curly head of yours?“

„Umm, I‘d ..., well, ...“ Aziraphale fidgeted about, his face now a deep shade of vibrant pink, „and if I‘d settle on your belly the sofa would just not be big enough...“

„‘k, Angel, that‘s it. Bed!!! You wanna walk yourself or should I carry you up there in my arms?“ His teasing smirk definitely suggested more than one implication.

„I can very well walk by myself!“ Aziraphale huffed indignantly. To add generously „But I‘d rather prefer if you‘d still hold my hand, my chivalrous knight.“

They both chuckled happily, the tension finally gone for good, for really the best.

„Up with you, then, love! Take your cocoa!“ Crowley ordered and somehow they danced up the stairs together (*), got changed into their pyjamas (Aziraphale‘s Tartan design and Crowley‘s crisp dark red silk of course) without letting go of each other’s touch and settled cosily under the blanket.

(* Their way of conversation often reminded of a pas-de-deux, rehearsed and perfected over the turn of millennia, a complicated choreography of indignant glares entwisted with fond acknowledgement of mutual affection, and as the dancers were Aziraphale and Crowley, the dance - no matter how closely embraced it was performed - had to be a Gavotte obviously.)

Aziraphale lay cuddled up into a ball on his side while Crowley lay stretched long with his arms around the angel‘s head and body so that they could look lovingly into each others faces.

They both smiled happily.

„Um, you want me to sing a lullaby, love?“ Crowley suggested half in earnest.

„Oh, dear, that would be nice. I‘d rather prefer a bit of friendlier lyrics, though.“ Aziraphale picked up on the idea.

„Hmph, I‘ll think of some....“

Crowley breathed a kiss on Aziraphale‘s brow. „Sleep well, my dearest Angel, and lovely dreams of whatever you like best.“

„That‘ll be the two of us, just here and now...“ Aziraphale said with a yawn, eyes already half closed.

Crowley watched him falling asleep, relaxing in mind and body, and when he saw the angel‘s smile in his sleepy face he couldn’t help but feel foolishly happy about the turns of their fortunes.

He settled back on his pillow, his eyes never wandering from Aziraphale‘s face, and hummed softly. „Go to sleep, and dream of joy, ...“ He knew there was no need to excruciate his creativity just now.

After all, he had all night, all eternity to come up with the right words. And he knew that eventually they would be there, in his brain, somehow. Like these stupid alliterations had been that had started off these whole revelations tonight.

Crowley at last felt full of love, as unlikely that is for a demon, but after all, he‘d always been the unlikeliest demon there was, and the most liked and loved one for exactly the same reason.

—————————————————————————

Epilogue

As it happened, somewhere in the vast realms of the universe a Divine Entity was pretty pleased with Her petty plotting to bring about a true loving coalescence in the souls of a doom defying demon and an amazingly adept angel.

She was the Perpetual Almighty Sucker for Romance, before and after all, and She loved Her creation dearly.

She had always believed it was so very obvious why these two of all the Legions of Heaven and Hell were chosen -they were unique in their ability to truly love and embrace difference. 

Merged these two were to form a new Might that would be able to withstand the Armies of Heaven and Hell if need be. But She wouldn’t reveal these considerations to anyone just now - after all, She liked to be .. ineffable.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that’s my first work that gets put up up AO3 (and one of my first pieces of fanfiction EVER) so please be kind.  
Also, English isn‘t my first language, so please excuse if I got something wrong. (Friendly ;-)) Constructive criticism being always welcome!
> 
> This should have been a quick 1000 words piece... 
> 
> It really started out with these few unculpable alliterations. I always liked the „Damsel in Distress“ trope so I looked up the term in wikipedia and found that it often is used for medieval stories of a maid being rescued from a vile dragon or serpent. (Yes!)
> 
> „Unfortunately“ there is also a link to the original/first use of the term in Richard Ames’ poem „Sylvia’s Complaint, of her Sexes Unhappiness (Being the Second Part of Sylvia’s Revenge, or, a Satyr against Man)“, printed in 1692, and reading the opening lines Crowley and Aziraphale quote in this piece, („(or at the least she SEEM‘D) a Maid“) my poor brain went off and on and on until a couple of things just fit together in this headcanon of mine.  
(Looking for the correct term for a french restaurant that they might have dined in I came across La Mère Catherine in Paris, which really has continually been open since 1793! (YESSSS!!!) - I wonder if Neil Gaiman planned this all along...)
> 
> Richard Ames published a couple of other Poems that seem to be lost except for their rather striking titles and there seems to be nothing further known about him other than him being a coat seller (Yes!!!) and pretty much a man of wine and women.  
(At least that’s what I found by googling „Richard Ames“)
> 
> And the thing about the different calenders is true, too. Non-Catholic countries and baronies did not accept the Gregorian Calender for centuries, so lagging behind 10 days...This mixup lasted in continental Europe until 1923 (!), when Greece finally adopted the „Improved Calendar“. (Again, according to Wikipedia - what would I be without that encyclopedia of knowledge....)
> 
> So I do hope you‘ve enjoyed reading as much as I had fun writing. 
> 
> Many thanks to my friend J. (Not only just a J., really) for support and encouragement!
> 
> I do love the whole Good Omens Fandom and I find it incredible how many different and amazing stories you beautiful people have come up with about these ineffable beloved dorks created by NG and TP and brought to life by MS and DT.


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